


Les Amis de l'Boners

by thepeopletoomustrise



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Gen, Multi, pENISES EVERYWHERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeopletoomustrise/pseuds/thepeopletoomustrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories of Les Amis and how each of them have experienced their worst Awkward Boners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Amis de l'Boners

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun with this. It's separated by Amis (there are just a few of them I left out, or had them become involved via association alone). A few notes before you read, though!  
> 1\. Modern AU (takes place in the USA, because I am not from France and have never been to a french airport) (you'll see why that's important).  
> 2\. Let's all pretend Jean Valjean has taken care of his identity issues before Marius meets him. Okay? Okay.  
> 3\. Believe it or not, there are a few historical tidbits in the lower notes. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**_  
_** _Today, we venture into the territory of erect penises, and what situations our favorite revolutionaries have been in due to inconvenient erect penises. Join me on this erudite journey, and please, keep all penises inside the vehicle. And we're off!_

****

**_Courfeyrac_ **

Readers, theoretically, you’ve presumed we’d start this rather engrossing topic with the member of Les Amis most likely to fall a victim to the aforementioned problem – which, surely, is Courfeyrac. It seems as though our sexually well-acquainted friend would end up in many an Awkward Boner Situation, though none as traumatic as the following.

 

After a year of painstaking saving, Les Amis finally decide to follow through on what Courfeyrac has been referring to as the “Bro-Trip” (Enjolras refuses to use such slang, though, so he claims it’s but a way to unite Les Amis as a brotherhood and therefore further their cause), or a trip wherein they show up at the local airport and ship themselves off on the first available flight to Wherever Life Takes Them.

 

All of them stand in line for airport security, now; Courfeyrac is insistently leading the way, and Grantaire is the Amis-train caboose. He’s waddling slowly behind all of them, complaining quite vocally about _why the fuck did we have to leave at five in the morning_ (he is, in fact, still half asleep).

 

Combeferre, behind Courfeyrac, shoves his distracted friend forward when it’s time for a good old airport security scan-and-pat down, “You wanted to be in the front; go ahead already!”

 

Courf is about to give a snarky reply when he notices his airport security agent, who is gesturing him forward to which he follows – she’s very attractive, and his brain immediately derails to thinking about her potential bedroom eyes, or how it would feel to let the tightly wound brunette bun free from her head…

 

He feels the thoughts dart down to his nether regions, and he doesn’t need to double-check to see that said thoughts have presented themselves in the least convenient way: Courfeyrac has a boner and is in the middle of security.

 

He waddles his way through the metal body scanner with no problems whatsoever – it seems he’s mastered the art of hiding the big guy by pulling a Quasimodo and hunching over to an equally awkward looking shuffle forward.

 

But Attractive Agent – her nametag reads Stacy and his brain curses because _dammit that’s a sexy name –_ says something and then asks him to spread his arms and legs, and Courfeyrac is certain he is about to melt directly into the floorboards.

 

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-_

 

His friends, however, have noticed his trademark hunchback waddle and seem to have discovered the problem. Jehan releases a loud chortle from behind Combeferre, and there’s no question that Enjolras is cradling his head in his hands and groaning because his damn friends and their damn penises cause _so many problems._ Bahorel is positively doubled over with the kind of laughter that cannot be stopped with thoughts of oppressive regimes or kicked puppies.

 

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, spreads his legs when Stacy ( _dammit)_ gives him a reminder that this is airport regulation and etcetera. His eyes shut for a moment before he stares directly at the ceiling as if trying to memorize the complicated and industrial system of lights; in actuality he’s desperately trying to ignore the fact that her hands are patting down his chest. His brain is singing profanities.

 

If he were in another setting, he’d display such evidence of manhood with pride, but this is not that situation, and he’s reminded of that when Stacy’s eyes go wide and she gestures another agent to come over and _son of a bitch._

 

Her accomplice – an elderly man with a nametag that reads Fred and shaggy beard – nods, and this apparently prompts her to say, “Sir, we’re going to need you to follow us over here.”

 

Enjolras, watching in absolute horror, is frantically whispering to Bossuet, “Is he being detained?”

 

“What they’re most likely going to do,” his friend answers, “is make sure that _thing_ in his pants is not anything too threatening.”

 

“ _Shit.”_

 

And Bossuet is almost right; the agents have him go through another body scan and Les Amis are roaring with laughter when he is subject to _another_ pat down, this one much more intense and conducted by Fred. He and Stacy both look equally puzzled, and study the body scan once more with the help of another agent.

 

Courfeyrac’s face has bloomed into a bright shade of red (which says a lot about the situation, given that Courfeyrac is not one usually a victim to embarrassment) and as the agents still won’t let him proceed with now all of his friends, he nearly shouts, “It’s _just my dick!”_

 

Undoubtedly everyone in the vicinity stares at the man with a still-raging boner – who, might I add, just _announced_ the fact that he has a boner – and Enjolras is actually about to cry.

 

Stacy looks equally distraught, and moments later, Courfeyrac is on his way, stumbling through a crowd of people who are all too aware of his current problem. When he arrives at his gathered group of friends and Enjolras opens his mouth to speak, Courfeyrac shoots him a death glare.

 

“Say a word and I’ll eject you out of your fucking airplane seat.”

 

**_Jehan_ **

Although this is the account of Jehan’s uncomfortable penis-provoked experience, Bahorel is awarded an honorable mention given that the encounter would have been extensively less awkward if he had not been there.

 

After a night of frolicking about with many of the other Amis, most of them end up going their separate ways, as they always do. Jehan and Bahorel live, separately, on the opposite side of town at the time (Jehan enjoys talking to his friend about his Laughing Mistress). Tonight, though, it’s just too late and everyone’s too drunk, so the two of them end up crashing on Courfeyrac and Marius’ living room floor.

 

The morning comes quickly and the shade-less windows allow _way_ too much light in; both of the men awaken with tired groans, and both roll back over or cover their heads with pillows.

 

Jehan is rather awake, though, and he’s clutching what looked like a blanket at four in the morning (but in actuality is a shawl of Cosette’s that was hanging up on Marius’ bedroom door).

 

His poet brain appreciates the beauty of the golden light he’s basking in for but a moment before he groans and covers his face. Too. Bright. For the next fifteen minutes, he’s in a push and pull with Bahorel, both of them trying to reach the shadier part of the room.

 

To make the unbearable sleeping conditions even more unbearable, the men hear the door open with that painful squealing noise. Marius’ voice greets whoever is at the door, which turns out to be Cosette looking for “some things she left” at his apartment because “she’s trying to do an inventory of her closet” or something along those lines.

 

She must notice the strays on the floor, though, and they hear a muffled “Hello!” from under their pillows.  Jehan replies in a half-asleep tone, and Bahorel doesn’t at all. Someone laughs; Jehan presumes it’s Marius – Courfeyrac must be sleeping in like a normal human being.

 

Jehan rolls over again in the desperate struggle for comfort, but he’s met with what feels like _discomfort,_ and he knows why. A sigh comes from his lips and reads pure exasperation. His morning friend is here (Courfeyrac would refer to it as a ‘wakey-wakey boner or _morning wood,_ but Jehan finds that friend seems much less profane). He tries his best to ignore it. What an imposing little friend he has!

 

Soon thereafter, the men hear footsteps nearby. Jehan’s cheeks flush a bit and he uses the ‘blanket’ to suitably cover himself up. _There. That’ll work just fine._

 

But the thing he doesn’t realize is that it _won’t_ work just fine because in that moment Cosette shrieks, “Oh, there it is! Little poet, you’ve adopted my shawl as your blankie! Adorable, but still, I need that.”

 

Bahorel notices and rolls over to watch when – much to Jehan’s dismay – Cosette snatches the shawl away and leaves the man in sweatpants much too exposed. He tries to roll over to conceal himself, and it may have worked if Bahorel hadn’t thundered, “ _Jehan_! Have you got a stiffy?”

 

Cosette stares at the poet and facts seem to finally register. She blinks a few times, and her face goes absolutely pink for a moment before she starts absolutely _screeching_ and flapping her hands around.

 

Glaring, Jehan throws his pillow at Bahorel, who is realizing that it might not have been in his best interest to point that out. Marius is running out of his room a moment later, babbling “My love, what is it? What is the cause for your screams?” and Cosette is gesturing to Jehan and Marius understands and then Marius is screeching almost louder than Cosette.

 

On the verge of tears, Jehan starts swatting at Bahorel’s arm. “It’s not my fault you have a pocket rocket!” is his friend’s reply, shielding his face from more than just the sun.  

 

(I’m sure you can imagine reactions from Les Amis when they hear of this!)

**_Combeferre_ **

Combeferre adjusts his tie as he walks down an artificially green lawn that just so happens to belong to his boss. He’s arrived at the man’s annual employee brunch a tad bit early, which is usually highly unlikely of Combeferre to be given that he much prefers to be exactly on time – but today he hopes his slightly premature arrival will show his boss just how serious his is about earning a promotion.

 

The promotion his boss presents at the annual shindig is one Combeferre has been after for years, and he has a pretty good feeling about today. He even had Jehan iron his button-down (his boss’ favorite color) for him as Grantaire called him a suck-up.

 

Dear reader, you may have the inclination that you know where this story is going, but you may be surprised at the unfortunate turn it takes.

 

He sees the man, decked out in an outrageously pink polo, and starts directly towards him, waving, “Mr. Buchanan!”

 

His boss sees him and waves back, but waits to reply until he’s close enough for a firm handshake, “Combeferre! One of my finest and brightest employees, always on time, or in this case – early! You never fail to impress me,” Mr. Buchanan laughs happily and pats Combeferre on the shoulder.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of being late to such a party as this,” is his reply; he talks through strained smile (truth be told, he actually kind of hates these fatuous events because of the eccentric upper-class-exclusive atmosphere), “Though, sir, I did have something I wanted to talk to you about…”

 

He hopes his tone of voice is an inclination to the subject of a promotion, but his boss just laughs and nods dismissively.

 

Mr. Buchanan redirects Combeferre’s attention to someone in the distance who he presumes is walking toward them, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, first!” he turns towards the figure in the distance, “Darling, come here, meet a fine employee of mine.”

An eighteen-year-old girl bobs over to them, and her dress is flouncing around as if she was gliding rather than walking, “Hmm?”

 

“Combeferre,” says his boss, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Florence.”

 

Florence offers Combeferre her hand, looking utterly unimpressed, and it’s then when Combeferre realizes just how tight these khaki pants actually are (“You can borrow them!” said Courfeyrac, “Don’t fret if they’re a little small – they practically have the word _classy_ written all-freaking-over them!”).

 

Combeferre has an unexplained erection.

 

At the worst fucking moment to have an unexplained erection.

 

It’s not like he feels any sexual attractive towards his boss’ daughter – not in the least. It’s just one of those moments when all the blood decides to pool in a certain place of inconvenience and when being a male decidedly sucks. He attempts to hide it, but no, it’s a relentless little bugger. _Shit._

“I…”

 

Combeferre watches his boss’ eyes, as well as his daughter’s, fall downcast. There goes his promotion. Suddenly, in that moment he’s panicking as if he were Palioxis – and then he realizes he’s definitely unsuccessful as he has no excuse given that it is what it is – unexplained.

 

He’s escorted from the party.

**_Grantaire_ **

“I’m so sick of you two and your UST and your fighting!” yells Courfeyrac, and it stops a fuming Enjolras and amused Grantaire from just about clawing each other’s eyes out.

 

(It would be safe to mention now that neither of them have the chance to ask what UST is or why they have it. Joly also can’t ask if it’s contagious.)

 

A mix of “We’re not fighting!” or “We’re fine!” and “Don’t get in the middle of this!” and “Leave us alone!” rings through the room. Courfeyrac just rolls his eyes in response.

 

“Oh, you’re _fine_? Then prove it! Just hug, dammit! Put us all out of our misery and freaking _hug!_ ” The two of them freeze, look at each other, and then look back at Courfeyrac with unexplainable expressions scrawled across both of their faces. “You heard me. Enjolras, get off of your high freaking horse and let him hug you. Then we can move on from this stupid argument that’s taken up the majority of this meeting; and cure a bit of this ridiculous UST, while you’re at it.”

 

Silence.

 

Both of them realize Courfeyrac is not joking. Enjolras relaxes his arms, looking just as pissed as he was a minute ago, and Grantaire stares at him and _oh fuck yes this is my chance._

 

The shuffling of feet.

 

 _Don’t screw this up, R,_ his voice is babbling in his brain, _oh shit he has such a nice chest and oh, okay, the shirt is tight – are those muscles? Shit shit shit- no, keep it cool, stay calm._

It’s now when The Hug Happens.

 

More silence, and then Enjolras’ voice breaks it and pierces the UST bubble right then and there;

 

“What the _hell_ is poking into my stomach?”

 

  ** _Joly_**

 

This short little story begins with Bossuet’s general absence of luck; many do.

 

You see, he tripped. There’s not much else that happened. But that trip started a chain of events that earned poor Bossuet with a broken foot.

 

This is why Joly and Bossuet are sitting together in the ER – Joly is looking around at the hospital room and examining the high-tech medical equipment, fascinated, while a nice doctor is helping his friend with the foot.

 

Joly offers a few words of comfort here and there, but in all honesty, he’s enthralled with the room itself. He can’t stop staring at the medical equipment, and he thinks of the lives he could save, of the diseases he could cure… Still in medical school, Joly is eager, and being up close to so many kinds of medical equipment is like what some other men would consider porn or inappropriate magazine.

 

Which is proven by the boner in his pants, and furthermore when Bossuet yells “You have a hard on while I’m groaning in pain? Joly, I _swear!”_

 

**_Marius_ **

Before I venture further, you must be aware of two things. One – Marius had not met Valjean before the day I am about to speak of (also much before the aforementioned Jehan situation). Two – Marius is awkward. All the time.

 

Marius walks into the kitchen of Cosette’s house, where he was told to “sit, make himself comfortable,” and her father would be right down. He shakes his arms out, again, in a faulty effort to loosen up; this is the first time he’ll meet her dad and he is desperate to make a good impression. Because of this, he spends a good amount of time giving himself mental pep talks.

_You can do this, Marius. You’ve prepared. You know things about the world. You’re decently handsome. You’re awesome, Marius, and you are a strong independent man. Except you kind of aren’t because you need Cosette. But okay._

It’s then when his lovely girlfriend walks in, dressed in a lacy little dress, long enough to be modest but sheer enough that Marius can _see her thigh._

 

He’s never seen her thigh before. And, in his book, it’s a very, very nice pair of thighs. Marius feels an alien-like tingling in his pants, and much to his dismay, his penis seems to be responding to The Thighs as well. His boner is clear. Very, very clear.

 

(Cosette is far too innocent to notice, even when she hugs him and exclaims that she’s so _very_ happy to see him and so _very_ happy to have him finally meet her father.)

 

Her father walks in, and Marius is sure all the color has drained from his face when he says, “Mr. Valjean, it’s a d-delight.”

 

Jean Valjean is looking at him funny, but he nods, “Glad to meet you,” but a moment later, his wandering eyes tell Marius he may suddenly not be so glad to meet him after all. _Crap._

 

Cosette starts chirping away, but Valjean puts his hand up in a gesture for her to cease. “I’d like to talk to Marius for a moment, Cosette. Would you mind grabbing some lemonade? The pitcher is in the living room,” and as soon as his sentence has finished, she’s gone; this leaves Marius alone with his girlfriend’s father and his own uncomfortable boner.

 

“Marius,” says Valjean, and he leans back on the counter, contemplating a moment before he speaks, “I need you to know something.”

 

Marius’ voice keeps coming out as a squeak, “Yes, sir,” and he shifts his legs. Valjean sees and gives the boy a facial expression that seems to say _we’ve both seen it, don’t try to fool me now…_ which makes the fidgeting stop. Marius feels faint.

 

“You see, Marius. I have a friend. Do you know what he is?”

 

“What is he, sir?”

 

“He’s a cop. The Inspector of Police, to be exact,” Valjean says. He watches Marius’ face closely as if he’s studying him under a microscope, and it’s beginning to make him uncomfortable, “I want you to keep that in mind when you take my Cosette out tonight.”

 

“Yes, sir, of course, sir.”

 

Valjean strokes his brown beard, and he hasn’t looked away from Marius during the entire conversation, “If you do anything that my Cosette doesn’t like,” and his face gets a little closer, and his voice gets a little lower, and suddenly Marius doesn’t feel emotionally stable, “You will meet my friend. But Marius, he will _not_ be your friend. Do you understand?”

 

He lets a soft whimper escape his lips, “Y-Yes, sir.”

 

Cosette comes running in, then, lemonade in hand, still smiling vibrantly, “I’ve got it, Papa!”

 

“Thank you,” Valjean says, and he gives Marius a pat on the back that he’s sure will break his spine in two.

 

His boner is sure as hell gone now.

 

**_Enjolras_ **

It happens during a speech. The thing is, Enjolras does not know this. Nor does he realize it in any way, shape, or form. What he realizes is that his friends have been trying to suppress laughter for the last five minutes – as he is getting to the pinnacle of his speech, mind you – and he is freaking _done_ with this shit.

 

“Stop it, all of you! Cease this mindless behavior, this instant!” Enjolras shouts, and although they’re all still smiling stupidly, the laugher bubbles to a more manageable level. “Someone tell me how you _dare_ laugh as I am speaking of such important values! How dare you not pay attention to _freedom_! What is the meaning of this?” he waits, crossing his arm across his chest and glaring at the entire room.

 

It’s Grantaire who shouts from the back, “It seems your officer is at attention!”

 

The room vibrates with laughs, and Enjolras stands there, unfazed, “Who’s an officer?”

 

“No, _your_ officer,”

 

“Who?”

 

Everyone loses it all over again, which only fuels Enjolras’ current fire. Combeferre tries this time, “What he’s trying to tell you is that you’ve seemed to have… _pitched a tent,”_ he watches his friend’s face for any sign of recognition, “Do you understand?”

 

“There are no tents involved in what I’m speaking of, Combeferre,” the leader grits his teeth, “You’d _know_ that if you’d been _listening,_ dammit!”

 

Courfeyrac stops him, “Your pocket rocket, Enjolras!” Surely, he’ll know this one.

 

Nope. “Rockets? We’ve discussed war already, Courfeyrac. That was last week’s topic. Why do I even _try_ if none of you _freaking give a damn?”_

 

“Trouser snake!” cries Bahorel.

 

“What the _hell?_ ” Enjolras says in reply, and he looks at Joly, “Please check to be sure Bahorel is alright.”

 

Joly stares at his friend and smiles gently, “He’s fine. You just… you seem to have a bit of a… Woodrow.”

 

“Wilson?” says Enjolras, blinking, “Woodrow Wilson?”

 

Now his friends are just exasperated and in sheer disbelief that he has not the slightest inclination of what they’re talking about (though Grantaire is about to join him in the ‘Woodrow Wilson’ situation, given that he’s just standing up there practically waving it around and _dammit_ ).

 

Contemplatively, Courfeyrac bites his lip for a second and then just says it, breaking the babble that has flooded the room; “Hard on!”

 

Silence. Does he understand?

 

(No, he doesn’t) “That’s right, Courfeyrac. You are all being too fucking _hard on_ me while I’m trying to educate you, trying to lead you – and normally I would hold my tongue, but today I cannot seem –“

 

Now Grantaire stands up in the back; his voice rings throughout the café, and his words seem to slap Enjolras across the face, “You have a _boner,_ Enjolras!”

**Author's Note:**

> Really quickly, I must say, I honestly don't know how that confrontation with the airport TSA agents would have gone on. But let's just accept how I wrote it, okay? Shhh. 
> 
> 1\. Palioxis was the Greek personification of retreat - or backrush - in battle. Fun fact!  
> 2\. Woodrow Wilson = 28th President of the US. 
> 
> ALSO, I totally made my carpal tunnel slither back after writing this bitch in one sitting. But I hope it was worth it!


End file.
